


Renascence

by besosdecanela



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), asoi
Genre: ASoIaF, Eventual Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, GoT, House Stark, Lust, Protective Sandor Clegane, Queen Sansa, Rebirth, Romance, Sansa Stark - Freeform, Winterfell, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besosdecanela/pseuds/besosdecanela
Summary: A lifetime between them but the War calls them together once more, to Winterfell, amid the barren trees and snow. They both have changed but the curiosity beckons the Young Wolf, and the memory plagues the Old Dog.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! It has been some time since Ive been back on here, I apologize. Life got a little crazy. But I watched the recent series premiere and it got me hooked again to my favorite ship.  
> I dont know if well actually get this reunion(I somewhat doubt it, unfortunately) so I wanted to write a little something between these two. If it happens then yay! and ill incorporate into the story. I hope I have time continue this, but lmk what you think?  
> Ill hope to go back and continue my other stories too :)  
> Thank you and enjoy <3

The cold was burning her cheeks, she realized. Her gloved hand warmed her reddened skin, doing next to nothing as the snow started to fall languidly before her.  
The decks were empty except for the Lady of Winterfell, looking below at the scenes before her. Hundreds of workers gathering Dragonglass, horses bringing in carts of wood, sheep’s being milked for the harvest, all causing a commotion in the courtyard.  
It was never-ending, but Sansa Stark was familiar with war, in the different disguises it had.  
She didn’t feel prepared but nevertheless, she would have to be, if her House were to survive this War..  
Sansa promised herself she wouldn’t lose herself nor her home again. To anyone.

Ironically, she heard a light laugh beneath her. It was short but she heard it nonetheless. The Dragon Queen was below the deck, her hand reaching towards Jon, but hiding beneath her fur cloak instead. Her violet eyes were strange in the whiteness surrounding her, but Sansa couldn’t deny her beautiful she was.

She had heard of this woman, the whispers and rumors reaching the North of her increasing power and surprisingly ruthlessness. No, she wasn’t insane like the Mad King had been, but she was to be feared.  
And as she saw Jon smile at her, a gleam to his dark eyes, Sansa knew she had lost him. Not truly, perhaps, for he hadn’t changed. But he had given up his Kingship for the Queen; Sansa wondered how much it had to do for his love of Winterfell or his love for the Queen.

It was useless however, pondering such trivialities. She trusted in her brother, and knew the terrible danger coming forth to ruin her home’s peace. She wouldn’t let Winterfell fall again. She had made sure of it.  
And as long as she drew breath, she would continue to protect her home. From anyone, inside and out.  
Sansa walked steadily down the wooden steps of the deck, disappearing from view. A few maids passed by her, rapidly stopping and bowing deeply. One of them was old and withered, of black hair and deep set eyes. She had been there since seeing the young Lady was barely in her twelfth year. She had grown strong, the maid witnessed, as capable of being a ruler as her Father had been.  
The young woman had her hair in the Northern fashion, fiery waves going down her back and sides, two braids pulling her front hairs to the back. Her coat was dark, the wolf sigil shining with white thread against black. Her dress was accentuating her figure, tall and graceful, similar to her mothers. Yet, her eyes had grown from their usual bright blue to a darkened turquoise, beautiful yet dark in a way.  
A wind blew through the balcony of the steps; her rose lips pursed as she both loved the cold and found it annoying at times. She barely felt the cold anymore except for her cheeks, pain stinging her face at the sensation. Her boots made a crunching sound as they found the fresh snow.  
She looked around her and saw the winding dirt road out of the castle walls, guarded by a few of her men. Sansa felt her mind swimming with endless thoughts, and wanted to be alone.  
Lately it had been so difficult to catch a moment's breath. She knew she could not waste any time, yet she needed to think.  
An old smith watched the slim figure walk towards the Godswoods. He noticed her beauty, and felt it was strange to see her a widow.  
A group of women passed by, babes in hand, seeing the lady’s hair fall behind her, past her backside. They envied the perfect waves, her young beauty, yet spoke of her braveness.

Sansa heard the whispers, could feel them even, but she continued to walk. This was what she was bred for, to lead, and she would not let her family down.  
She was always being watched, she knew, but she tried not letting it bother her. She couldn't.

The young woman passed the stream, avoiding the cold water. The sounds of the castle grounds were drowned out by the howl of the wind. The sounds of the forest echoed in her ears, and for the first time in a while, she found a bit of peace amongst the trees.  
Her feet were moving, remembering the way without having to look.

The Weirwood was before her. The leaves were falling gently unto the ground; the snow looked tainted with blood, but it was undeniably beautiful in a way. 

Her cerulean eyes caught the red, and for a moment, they seemed violet. She tightened the fur coat around her. Her waves caught between her hood, and she frowned at the slight pain.  
She remembered it was her Mother who used to fastened her hair and help her with its length, always combing it gently.  
Sansa pushed the memory away, and walked forward.  
She had to be elsewhere, she knew, but the tree was calling her and she would not ignore the call.

Her small hand touched the Weirwoods sullen face. She expected it to speak, but silence surrounded her.  
But the silence dissipated, as thuds reached her ears. It was near her, and the sounds became louder as her feet moved on their own. Her steps were careful.

Sansas eyebrows furrowed, knowing not to trust even people among her home. A traitor could be anywhere and anyone.  
The young woman glanced at the cloudy sky, looking out for the terrifying dragons and saw none. She sighed in relief.She couldn't even believe them to be real, however, she would be foolish not to fear them.  
The thuds became louder. No, they were no dragon, for they were smaller sounds, human.

The stream crawled beneath a thick area of evergreens and boulders. The pine trees were nothing but thin branches, as Sansa pushed them out of her way.

The snow was falling a bit more heavily. She shook the snow from her long hair, stepping along the rocks near the river.  
She noticed the thuds were wood being cut, with vigor and impatience. Groans filled her ears, and for a moment, she wanted to turn back.  
But fear had not gotten her where she was now in her life, and she wouldn't let it win any longer.

The thick bushes stopped in a clearing. A few pine trees had already been cut, making the clearing seem more skeletal than before. A pile of fresh, cut wood had been messily placed in a wagon.  
The ax flew threw the air, landing on a heavy branch.  
Sansa stopped and drew breath. A few particles of snow fell on her open lips.

A massive figure held the ax in his large hands. The furs on his shoulders made him seem like some sort of wildling out in the open forest, as his grunts made him sound like an animal. His hair was unruly and long, down his neck, and his scarred cheek could be seen, flinching at the sound of the ax.  
But his voice, a raspy, deep baritone sound, took the young woman back, many years ago, to a time she feared and loathed, a time of sorrow and rebirth, a time that she wouldn't forget.  
Sansa was speechless and her feet started moving backward, the leaves crunching beneath her leather boots.

“I told ye to hurry the fuck up…. where are the bloody blades I asked for?”  
The beast of a man turned around, expecting the slow man that was helping him to appear with new axes.  
But his grey eyes widened and his scared lips opened. And for a moment he could feel his lungs against his ribcage and his memory brought everything back, more painful than the cold. 

Sansas eyes met his. Her heart pounded against her. Her vein pulsated in her neck.

And in a second, she remembered his kiss, remembered his scent, his words, and the painful lessons he taught her in King’s Landing so many years ago. 

Sansa was no longer a child, but felt like such in front of the Hound; no longer an obedient dog, but forever will act like such. 

The Hound knew she was in Winterfell, but doubted he would ever see her. He was a lowly civilian, helping the cause; he was no Knight. He wouldn't bother finding her, or trying to see her once more; he knew she would only be frightened and run away once more.

And yet, she had discovered him, sought him out? No, what a foolish thought.  
He was still a fool, and perhaps even more so, for her.

The snow fell between them.  
The years had changed them.

 

He found his voice, and Lady Stark heard a name she hadn't been called for what seemed a lifetime. 

“....Little Bird…?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww wow thanks everyone for your kudos and comments. It really means the world to me.  
> Heres chapter 2, just finishing off the setting of the story. But I am still deciding whether this will become explicit or not. Stuff will happen, and quite soon (hehe) perhaps.  
> Let me know what you think?  
> As always, many thanks and enjoy!

The name rang in her ears.   
She didn't know what to feel, as the memory became real in front of her.

A strong wind blew between them. Sansa’s dress scurried beneath her, a few flakes falling on her cheeks. Her eyes were full of fear and anxiety, feeling as if she was in her thirteenth year, afraid of the man before her and afraid of what he could do.  
But the anxiety lessened, remembering the real monsters she had met, clad in shining armor and quaffed hair. She remembered Ramsay's grin, too, and the evil it had hidden. 

She shuddered, but not of the cold. She pushed the awful memories away, and looked upon the Hound.  
He had not changed much, his beard fully grown, his eyes still tense and grey, His scar was still prominent, unfazed by time. His muscles protruded from the rough fabric of his garments.  
The young Lady held on to the pine tree next to her, holding herself steady. 

He wore a simple dark tunic; he looked like on of the townspeople, hard at work, helping the cause. For a moment, she wanted to smile.  
The Hound looked upon her. His voice was in his throat, and he was now at a loss for words. 

She had changed, for she was a woman now, tall yet slim, protruding hips and bosom. Her hair was quite long, like fire against the snow. And her Tully eyes, they were looking straight into him.   
But she wasn't looking at his scar, but at him, his entirety, not like before. 

The She-wolf was still beautiful, he realized. Untouched beauty, innocent still, however, her stance was different, proud perhaps, unafraid. Her eyes seemed darker, as if the world had touched her in ways that could never be erased.

He found himself walking towards her. He noticed she did not back away, or move an inch. 

Sansa saw him coming closer, and her heart leaped into her throat. She saw his eyes and did not see malevolence.   
She stood her ground.  
Snow fell between them with vigor. A cardinal sang its tune in the tallest tree. 

He stopped before her. His thin lips pursed, attempting to utter something that wasn't foolish. 

There was much he regretted, and all was colliding inside of his mind. 

Sansa found herself with tears in her eyes, but she didn't know why. Had she missed him? Had she missed what he represented, perhaps? 

Was he, in his brute strength and tongue, still a knight, a knight she had always wanted but never obtained? Was he protection, rough like a bull but loyal as a…  
She glanced down, blinking away a few tears. 

She was overwhelmed, and it made her feel weak.  
But at this, she heard a chuckle, a rasping sound she had kept in her memory.  
“Still a shy little bird, arent ye?”

His hand reached out to her face, but took it back. He wanted to feel her, to know she was real.  
But he wasn't a fool.   
Her voice, soft but strong, responded. It was deeper but still as sweet as before.

“Not a bird. A wolf. Until I die.”  
Sansa uttered these words quietly but with ferocity. 

The woman before her was the Lady of Winterfell, not some weak princess. And she would show him. She knew it did not matter, not in the middle of a war, but she wanted to show him what he had learned, who she had become. She knew her place.

Sansa looked up to see the grey more clearly now. They were tired eyes.  
“Aye…..a wolf indeed...my Lady,” he replied. He groaned in pain, inwardly, as his knew fell into the snow. He bowed lowly, unironically, his eyes serious; however, a slight smirk was on his lips.

Sansa watched the massive man delve into the snow with somewhat reverence. She was used to this, but not from the Hound. She noticed his smirk and smiled a bit. No, he had not changed much.

He glanced up at her. Sandor witnessed her smile, the rose of her cheeks.   
A sensation in his chest was resurfacing, one that he wished would stay locked away.

A snowflake fell on her face. It touched her button nose gently.   
The Hound couldn't help himself this time.  
His calloused hand brushed her skin gently, the snowflake melting against the warmth of his skin.

Sansa’s mind was racing. She felt her cheeks grow red again.

“I believe…...I believe I have missed you, Ser Clegane.” Sansa uttered. She was in disbelief at her forwardness, but she knew it did not matter.

“I am no Ser,” he responded, anger in his voice. Yet, he continued softly.   
His eyes had not left hers.

“But… for you, I shall always be.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow thanks you guys for all the kudos and comments(ill try to respond to the latter, but just know that is super appreciated <3)  
> Heres another chapter for you guys. Yes, it definitely will become explicit. Ive changed the rating already lol.  
> Lmk what you think! Ill incorporate this weeks episode into the story too.
> 
> Thank you!

The bickering continued, much to Sansa’s chagrin.   
Jon explained that the Dragon queen's arrival would help the North win the war of all worlds; her dragons were a weapon, and without them, they would die. The Lords and Ladies calmed down at the mention of the beasts, Daenerys looking proud at the mention of her ‘children’.

Sansa glanced at her from the side, not liking the Targaryens attitude. Only reason she was given Winterfell over to this foreigner is because of Jon. If it was up to her, shed lock the gates and hide the key. 

Lady Stark had her hair in a braid falling down her back, collecting itself in her wooden chair on the table. Her dress was pristine and a deep navy, hugging the warm fabric in a silver brooch in the front. Her eyes shifted from the crowd to Jon; shed already said her words and giving him space to speak.   
The meeting had gone normal, yet it would be some time until the people of the North accepted Daenerys as a leader. Sansa doubted that would ever happen, knowing the Northerners stubbornness quite well.   
In the last hour she found her mind wandering. She kept going back to that moment in the woods.  
It had been two days since she had last seen the hound. She expected him to be among the lords but realized he was no longer a Knight. Granted, she could make him one again, if he chose to.  
Sansa shook away the thought. 

But as tried to stop thinking about Ser Clegane, another memory would resurface, of Kings Landing, the serpentine steps, the courtyard…  
Her bedroom in green flames that night. She had been terrified, shaking underneath his massive body. She knew the horror stories and couldn't even imagine would he'd do to her.

Yet he did not harm her. He never had touched her, except for the kiss.   
Had it even been real?

She could remember the warmth of his lips, his scent, a mix of pungent alcohol, blood and musk. And his the skin of his cheek, as she touched it, was surprisingly soft.

The meeting had been dismissed; Sansa had several more meetings throughout the day with different bannermen, and although she would do her duties without question, all she wanted was to be alone.

Lady Stark walked to the Main hall, her meeting with Lord Reed approaching.  
Her thoughts were racing, towards the man she used to know. 

The afternoon was quiet. The snow had ceased to fall and piles of it were accumulating on the sides of the wall. Bannerman passed by in solemness, knowing the bloodshed that would soon be at their steps.  
Horses and cattle were huddled together, while children were playing innocently between the farmers. 

Around dusk, the snow began once again. Fires were regularly lighted along the main dirt road through the castle. People were leaving the grounds, going back to their homes. A few ravens flew into the coop along the other messengers. Their beaks opened with loud cawing and the clouds of cold emanated from their mouths.   
The Castle had gone silent. Dinner was being served to everyone in the dining hall; Jon had designating the area for the Lords to dine together, while the soldiers would dine in the southern hall; to create order and peace between us all, Jon would declare.

Night fell upon the land.  
….  
A few men were still working outside the hall, wood being placed in the noblemen's quarters. Maids gathered linens and sheets for the next day, and servants cleaned the remaining floors. 

The Hound was one of these men, his size helping in matters and the speed in which they were completed. He kept his eyes open for sight of red-headed beauty, but to no avail. He hated the feeling of disappointment, feeling like some stupid child. He hauled the last remaining pieces of wood into the cart. He wondered if one of them would go directly to the Lady’s quarters. 

The curiosity peaked his interest so much, the idea wouldn't leave his mind.

She wouldn't kill him, he knew; with the power she had, the Lady could behead him for any transgression, let alone sneaking to find her.  
But somehow, Sandor knew she would not do anything. Mercy happens? Curiosity?  
Perhaps he was completely over his head, but the way the young she-wolf had looked at him was just like before, so long ago, perhaps even more intently. 

“Pass me that, boy”, the Hound rasped. Edgar looked at him, fearing the repercussions of disobeying the intimidated man. He gave Sandor the pile of cut logs.

Sneaking around the castle could possibly be punishable by death, Sandor knew.   
Yet, he continued. He climbed the steps carefully, deciding to lunge the pieces of wood physically himself. 

The dark hallways were alight with candlelight. A bit of breeze passed through, the candles light swaying slightly. 

The large man was on the third floor, silence meeting him. He was never afraid, but he did not want to cause an uproar either.   
He was a regular lowly servant, bringing firewood to his Lady. That is all.

Part of him was screaming at his stupidity. His large feet were moving noiselessly, nevertheless; he would see her, if not for just a moment. He would find her. 

As he approached a darker stone corridor, he realized the amount of guards beginning to appear. They looked at him with suspicion. 

“You! What business do you have in this area?” a young guard asked the man.  
Sandor turned to see the guard staring at him, hand already on his sword. The young man’s face scowled in fear when noticing the terrible scar and his incredible size.  
….  
The wind howled outside in the night.  
Sansa looked down from her balcony, eyeing the empty woods. The snow was melting unto the stone around her. She grabbed her fur shawl tightly. 

She sighed deeply, trying to understand what was wrong with her. Sansa had been so anxious this past day, and she wanted to know why. She paced, but something caught her eye from the tall veranda.   
Her eye caught movement in the second floor deck. She saw the massive shadow, and her stomach dropped. Her heart, however, started to beat painfully fast.

Ser Clegane was here? Inside the castle? Had he been working inside all along? He seemed to be carrying something.  
She found herself shaking, but walked into her quarters, away from the cold. She glanced at the dying fire. 

The appropriate thing would be to stay inside, away from the Knight, away from the temptation to know more. But she had not survived by being a quiet little bird, as he had said. She had survived because she was strong. 

Sansa found herself opening the wooden door, closing it silently. The bearded guard was silent near her door, sword in hand. He straightened himself as he saw the Lady.   
“G-good evening, Lady Stark!”, he exclaimed, bowing.   
Sansa smiled.  
“As you were, good Ser.”   
The knight obeyed. A few guards down the hallway kept watch over her corridor, exclusively for her.   
She passed by them, praying they wouldn't stop her. Sansa shuffled quietly as her coat trailed behind. She stepped down to the second floor deck, out into the cold. There she saw a sight before her.  
A small knight was in front of the Hound, seemingly terrified but attempting to be brave. Sandor turned around, as if he knew she had come.  
They caught each other’s gaze. 

“There you are. I have been waiting for my accompaniment. You are late….” Sansa declared with as much confidence as she could.  
“Yes, my lady...” Sandor replied, bowing his head, keeping a haughty laugh to himself. 

“I-I am...forgive me, my lady. I was inquiring about his presence here, I am s-sorry...I-” the knight continued stuttering but Sansa kindly stopped him.  
“Alright, good Ser. No need to apologize. To your duties. You are dismissed….” Sansa smiled and replied.   
He quickly turned around down the corridor to his post. 

A silence between them. They were alone on the deck.   
It was getting awfully cold.   
He turned to her and approached her. 

 

“S-ser…”, Sansa uttered a greeting , her bright eyes trying to hold back her nervousness.

Sandor held a few logs that seemed small in his large hands. He tossed them in the corner absentmindedly. Sansa jumped at the noise.  
Had he just come to see me?, Sansa wondered, staring at the firewood. She blushed.

The hound looked upon her; he noticed the candlelight illuminating the blue of her eyes and the red on her lips.   
“Why are you out here, little bird? Spying on me, looking for trouble?” Sandor whispered. His hoarse voice was somewhat comfortable to hear.   
“I can ask the same to you, good Ser. Would not you be in a cell if it weren't for my interjection?,” Sansa replied, crossing her arms beneath her shawl. She tried not to smile.  
He chuckled.  
“Hm, seems like I owe you my thanks….Or perhaps we were both being curious, weren't we, my Lady? Wandering about…” he answered. He stood closer to her now. Sansa’s cheeks reddened painfully.   
“I...no, I do not think so.. Ser.”  
The Hound laughed. It brought back many memories.

He knelt closer to her face. She could smell him, his strong musk in her nostrils. It was strong but not unpleasant.   
“Are we lying now, Little Bird?” he asked, his eyes delving into hers. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. She swore he could probably hear her heart beat.   
But remembered who she was and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Perhaps, if It is necessary. Why were you in the castle?, “ she asked. Her leg was shaking but she tried hiding it. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Hm...and If I say that I needed to see you once more, what would you say?”

His words reached her ears but she doubted that was the truth. Her cheeks reddened even more but she still maintained eye contact.   
She opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself.  
What could she say to that? She wanted to say she wanted to see him, too, at least to know more, to find out what she was feeling in the pit of her stomach.

He didn't wait for her to respond. His face was in front of hers. She caught the grey in his eyes, seemingly blue in the candle light. The dark surrounded them and it felt peaceful, even if it was just for a moment.  
Sansa eyes darted from his eyes, grazing his soft scar down to his lips.   
So many years ago, she would run from such a sight, see it in her dreams. But now, she felt comfort in knowing he had not changed; he was still the foul-mouthed man she used to know.

And for a moment, she remembered the kiss, and wondered if he would commit such an act again.

As if reading her mind, the Hounds eyes darted down from her eyes to her body, partly hiding behind the shall, yet her hips evident. They returned to her eyes.  
He placed his massive hand against her side, touching her gently. She gasped and closer her eyes; she was afraid but more for the consequences of their actions. 

The Hound caught sight of her fear; he eyed their surroundings, and saw the other stoneway. He pushed her into the hallway softly. He caught her hips again, and steadied her. The candles light did not reach them.

He heard silence. The only noise was their breathing. He knelt down, and Sansa could feel his breath on her skin.   
He was going to kiss her, she realized, as her body started to tremble. She did not move. 

“Little bird….do you want me to kiss you…” his voice spoke into the cold air. He read her mind.  
This surprised Sansa, her eyes widening. 

“You…. ask me this, yet before you had not…” Sansa replied in a whisper. Her nerves grew.

“You did not forget…and I do not forget who you are, Lady Stark….” Sandor replied.

They stood together in the dark of the corridor. The stone echoed drops of water falling from the cracks. The snow was falling outside, and for a moment, time in its entirety stopped.

Like lightning, terrible memories invaded her mind, of perfect princes and broken promises.   
Hurt and fury passing through her heart. She had never known love from another man, just pain from her enemies, disgusting and unwanted brutalities.   
She shuddered; would the Hound ever do such things? Would he hurt her like everyone else had done before?  
But he had not. He had had the chance, and he never did.  
The Hound waited for her answer.

“You ma-...you may kiss me..” Sansa answered, her voice faltering even though she was trying to be as strong as she could. She wouldn't deny this want, any longer, however.

Sansa heard him sigh. She didn't know if it was from relief or something else.  
The huge hand of his was kept on her hip; it tightened its grip.

The other hand reached out and cupped her face softly; she barely felt it on her skin.  
She found herself holding her breath.

His lips were as soft as she remembered; they touched hers but it was unlike he had done before. She remembered that kiss being so rough, but this one felt careful.

His hand was reaching lower down her neck, while his mouth moved faster with vigor. The sensation was making her mind swirl.  
With a fright, she realized there was a burning between her hips.

She closed her eyes in the dark, and let herself feel the pleasure.  
He groaned slightly against her hips; it reignited the burning between her legs. The young woman knew what it was, but hadn't let herself enjoy carnal pleasures in years.   
Ramsay had destroyed that.   
But her mind shook away the awful thoughts and focused on the swiftness of the Hounds tongue, starting to lap at hers.   
And suddenly, he pushed himself away with a breath.

They stood apart in darkness. Sansa was thankful her cheeks were hidden; she was sure she was red all over. Her mouth was open in shock at her actions.   
The silence was overwhelming. She straightened herself, and tried to speak, yet he was faster.

“I should have taken you away at Blackwater…” his hissed, more to himself than anything. 

Sansa looked down at the stone beneath her blackened boots. She breathed in deeply, calming her nerves.  
“P-perhaps, Ser. But I realized... there is no point in looking behind at the past. No matter how bright it was….” Sansa replied sadly. Perhaps it would have been better for her to leave with him, leave everything behind and run away, become someone else entirely.  
Yet, she knew she belonged here.

The Hound scowled, frustration on his scarred brow.   
He grabbed the stone wall, his head bowed in silence. 

Sansa heard a few footsteps, behind them, perhaps below?   
The nervousness returned. She was the Lady, and could do what she wanted, yet there were boundaries she had crossed; she also didn't want to jeopardize the Hounds status, or put his life at stake.  
Shock passed by her again; she truly had kissed Sandor again.   
Conflict started to rage inside her, but this was no time to ponder this.

Her hand reached out to him; she cupped his cheek as gently as he had done. Sandor sighed into it, relaxing against her touch.   
She didn't know what was between them, but whatever this feeling was, it had not left neither of them.

She turned around quickly, running back the way she came from. The beautiful woman looked back one more time before shutting the door.  
Her small form disappeared behind the wooden door. The wolf sigil carved delicately into the wood stared back in defiance. 

The tower of a man sighed. He tried ignoring the hardening between his legs. But it was a plague, and it wouldn't go away so easily.

He clenched his large fist. 

He would see her again, and damn all to the Seven hells who would get in his way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Also, OMG.  
>  I am beyond thrilled our Sansa had a moment with the Hound this past Sunday, (sorry spoilers lol) I am SO HAPPY. I knew he wouldnt be staying in Winterfell with his brother on the loose, but still I am really happy they had a chat and wow, not going to lie, I squealed when Sansa touched him. I like the fact that he reminded her that if she had gone with him, nothing bad would have happened to her, but of course, she grew out of all that turmoil.  
>  Whatever happens in the next two episodes, my fanfic will probably be different unless I add in some details from the show.   
> I would like to explore their dynamic after Sansa’s inner pain with what had happened before with Ramsay. I am trying to to it justice but it is difficult writing on the subject while also being faithful to her as a character. Well see hhahaa i will do my best!  
> Thanks and enjoy!

………  
The war effort was on the verge of an end.  
The Battle of Winterfell had cost so much bloodshed; they had won, yes, but thousands had died, the remaining troops energy depleted and supplies extinguished. 

The pyres burned high with the sacrificed, and Sansa knew it wouldn't be the last time she would have to burn her men. 

Winterfell celebrated, but Sansa stayed quiet. She couldn't help laugh a bit as she enjoyed watching Jon struggle to drink, but her mind remembered the burning bodies, and she grew solemn again.   
She was being watched, and it didn't alarm her when she saw the Hound staring at her, quickly shifting his eyes towards his ale. It was ironic, in a way. He sat so far from the Lady, yet they had been as equals together in the hallway some time ago.

She found herself moving, and didn't really care about whoever might see. The drunken crowd didn't care, and she wouldn't either. Not this night.  
They sat in front of each other.   
She stared at his lips, and wished he would kiss her right here in the middle of this celebration.She wanted to feel something.

But instead, she smiled. He chuckled. They spoke of the past, and knew they had changed so drastically, there was nothing that could be the same.   
The Hound had known of her defilement, but for once, she did not shy away in embarrassment. It was done to her, something she would never forget, yet she felt something different now, as her revenge had been sought out. She was alive, and her enemy was dead, a pile of bones and rotten dust and dirt.   
Yes, it plagues her, every day. But she is still powerful, she had won.   
Seeing the Hounds burned face made her feel as invincible as he was. 

For a moment, she dared touch his hand. He looked down, feeling a sensation going through him.   
Her eyes narrowed and smiled sadly, retracting her hand.   
Quickly, the Hound caught hers in his again. It was very warm.   
Her blue eyes widened but she remained calm.

“Midnight. Find me. In the Godswood. I need...I want to see you,” the Hound proclaimed, his voice low.   
The drunk yells and holler drowned out his words, but Sansa heard the massive warrior, his hand tightening over hers. She could feel a blush in her cheeks, and looked down.

Her eyes found his again, and they were stern.  
“I am no whore. If you want something warm, there are plenty of other women around here. And in a much better mood.”  
His eyes didn't leave hers, and his crooked lip remained taught.   
“ I don't want a bloody whore. I want you...” 

She stared at him. Her lips furrowed, contemplating even seeing him again.   
But she remembered their kiss, and she was drawn in again.

The joyful songs and dance around her caught her ears. Everyone seemed happy, even if it was for this one night. Why shouldn't she be happy? Did she not deserve happiness like everyone else? Hadn't she suffered enough?

Yes, she wanted the Hound to kiss her, to embrace her once again.   
Nevertheless, she knew she wasn't ready for anything else. It had been only been a few times with the rancid Bolton, but she couldn't fathom it again. She shook her head, forgetting those thoughts.  
The Hound observed her gentle face, and saw the conflict and hurt pass through it. 

“I will never hurt you, Little Bird. You know this. And I would never touch you, if that is your will…”

She leaned closer into him, their hands still together. Her eyes narrowed.  
“Then what DO you want?”

It didn't take more than a moment for the Hound to respond.   
“I want to fight, for you and only you….to be with you, however way you may need me...” he rasped, pulling her closer.   
Her eyes widened, the candlelight illuminating the turquoise of her eyes. Her full lips parted but shut quickly. 

The beautiful woman nodded slightly, leaving the table. His eyes followed her out of grand hall. She didn't look back.

He drank the last of his ale, staring into the candlelight. He ignored the feeling in his groin, ignored the quickening heartbeat. 

He would be with her, as her guard, her soldier, however way she wanted him to be. He would leave his revenge behind, for her.

It was a burden, however, being so close to the She-Wolf and not being able to feel her, to drown in that fiery hair of hers. As much as he wanted her, he would do as she commanded.

It pained him, but there was much more painful things he had endured in his life.   
...

The young Lady crept up the stairs, a few maids following her silently. She asked for a warm bath, and they left to bid her will. Sansa touched the walls as she approached her guarded door. The knight bowed lowly, opening the door for her. 

A few moments later two of the maids knocked and entered to help draw her bath. The youngest maid brought lavender and citrus, warm linen and a new coat.   
Soon the water was scalding. Sansa kindly thanked the women and asked to be alone. 

Once she was alone, she undressed herself, carefully undoing her braid and wallowing into the porcelain tub. The air was warm, the fireplace burning bright close to her. Her eyes closed as her skin seem to absorb the heat of the water, smelling the fresh citrus and herbs floating on the top.   
Her thoughts drifted to snow, to the creek in the Godswood, to her own direwolf, froclicking through the dried leaves.   
She sank deeper into the scalding water. Sansa could feel the heat through her limbs, through her longs legs. Her eyes closed, imagining the stories and knowing the pleasure that could emanate from it.   
Nevertheless, she had not known such pleasures with another man. She had touched herself before, a long time ago; she had felt a thrill, remembering it feeling strangely good. It had been some time.  
She felt her hands trickle down between her folds, but she stopped.   
What would it feel like if it were the Hound’s hands, rough and calloused? Would he be gentle, would he want her to enjoy his touch?

She felt herself become red. She felt a sensitivity grow, and was frightened. Frightened, but curious. She was beyond her eighteenth year, but in some ways, felt like a child.

Sansa looked towards the windowsill, seeing the ivy growing, barely a leaf on the branches. The wooden crawled onto the glass and left no space to view the night. 

The She-wolf could see the moon, clear as day. The night was calling out to her; she wanted to run.


End file.
